Chapter Text
It was nearly three in the morning by the time Bodie finished and signed his report. He'd left it to the last. Doyle had finished his report some time ago, and Bodie hadn't seen him since. Although Doyle was still in the building, Bodie was certain of that. They'd all stayed at HQ, making sure every detail in the case was wrapped up. They'd followed procedure to the letter. They owed that to Cook and Reynolds, and Harrison from the bomb disposal unit.
Bodie carried his report to Cowley's office. The door was open, but Cowley wasn't in sight. Bodie placed the report on Cowley's desk, and set off in search of Doyle. Paperwork had been an adjustment for him when he'd joined CI5. But he'd found he had a surprising aptitude for it, and far more patience than Doyle, who'd grown to hate paperwork when he was in the police. After an op, it helped to write down exactly what had happened—it brought some order to the chaos of the aftermath. It worked even when the victory felt as hollow as this one.
He found Doyle in the rest room, standing before a table with a box on it. Doyle glanced up as Bodie entered the room, then returned his attention to the envelope he was writing on. They were alone in the room. Doyle put a chain into the envelope, sealed it, and placed it in the box.
"What's all that, then?" Bodie peered into the box, and saw the envelope was addressed to "Danny." Cook's son. Bodie raised his eyes to Doyle's.
"Cowley asked me to clean out his desk and locker. June called. She wants the box in the morning." Doyle's tone was flat.
Bodie tightened his lips, then sighed. "Yeah, well, you knew him best."
"Yeah." Doyle folded the flaps on the box to close it. "And I dragged him into this mob."
"It didn't take much of a drag—just the lure of money."
Doyle looked at him, eyes narrowed. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Bodie folded his arms. "It was his choice to join, and he did it for his own reasons."
Doyle met Bodie's gaze, then looked at the box. "I know."
"June blamed you, did she?"
Doyle shrugged. "Only to be expected, I suppose. I wish Cowley hadn't sent me." He hefted the box into his arms and headed for the door.
"That was your test." Bodie gave him a nod when Doyle turned his head towards him. "Like mine with Ojuka." He opened the door for Doyle.
Doyle didn't move. "Fuck. You think so?"
"He's never sent an agent to inform a family before, has he? Why else?"
"Because I knew Brian." Doyle went through the doorway and strode down the hallway. "Damn Cowley."
Bodie followed Doyle to Cowley's office. There was still no sign of Cowley. Doyle put the box next to Cowley's desk, then turned to Bodie. "June thinks I talked him into joining CI5. Called me a bastard. Said it was all right for me—I haven't got anyone depending on me." He looked up at the ceiling. "She said I can go on playing cowboys for the rest of my 'bloody, miserable, selfish life'".
"Oh, well, that's all right, then. Glad you've got permission."
Doyle lowered his chin, and Bodie was relieved to see a slight smile.. "Yeah, takes a weight off, that does."
Bodie touched him on the shoulder. "I depend on you."
"Of course you do." Doyle was still smiling, but Bodie saw the tension in him.
"Come on," he said. "I've got something for you." He led the way to the door.
"What?" Doyle didn't move.
"Do you want to stay in Cowley's office all night?"
Doyle followed him. "What?"
"Don't you trust me, Raymond?"
"I'm still recovering from the so-called dinner you brought me at midnight."
"You try to find food, even in Central London, at midnight."
"Oh, you thought that was food, did you?"
"Did you eat it?"
"Yes."
"Then it was food." Bodie led him to the locker room.
"I've seen this place before." Doyle looked around. "And if you think we're going to have a little tryst...."
Bodie rolled his eyes, opened his locker, pulled out Doyle's bike leathers, and threw them at him.
Doyle caught them, then looked at Bodie. "You brought the bike."
"With dinner, yeah." He held out Doyle's helmet.
Doyle took it. His gaze flickered over Bodie. "Where's yours?"
Bodie smiled, and warmth eased his own lingering tension from the op. He took his gear from the locker. They dressed and headed for the car park. His Capri was parked next to the bike. They'd used Doyle's car for the past two days.
Doyle swung onto the bike. "Insurance?" He gestured towards the Capri.
"Always have a backup plan." Bodie settled behind Doyle on the bike.
Doyle looked over his shoulder at him. "That's me."
He wanted to kiss him. Instead, he lifted his helmet. "Let's go, Doyle."
"I am going to go very fast."
"Your ticket." Bodie strapped on his helmet.
Doyle's smile said, as clearly as if he'd spoken: they'll have to catch me first. Doyle put on his helmet and started the engine.
Bodie wrapped his arms around Doyle as they left the car park. Doyle drove with with an apparent eye to the speed limits while they were in town, but as soon as they reached the motorway, he opened it up. There was a nearly full moon, a clear sky, and a light breeze. Bodie leaned against Doyle's support, and paid no attention to their direction. It didn't matter; nothing mattered but this moment. He surrendered himself to it, emptying his mind of all but the awareness of Doyle, becoming one with him on the bike. All he needed—all he'd ever need—was here.
He didn't know how much time had passed before he felt a marked decrease in speed. They had left the motorway some time ago, and had sped along A roads, twisting through the countryside. He lifted his head as Doyle steered into a layby. It overlooked a valley, and Bodie saw lights in the distance—a village winding through the valley, but nowhere near them. It was quiet and dark in the layby, although the moon and the motorcycle lamp provided some illumination.
Doyle settled the bike, then pulled off his helmet. Bodie followed suit, and stretched his legs to the ground behind Doyle's. Doyle was looking out towards the valley, and Bodie felt the tension in Doyle still, despite the ride. "What are you thinking?" Bodie kept his voice quiet.
Doyle shrugged. "They haven't a clue—some of them down there, in their tidy little houses. Not a clue what the world could be like—what our world is like."
"Cowley would say that's thanks to us."
"Yeah. But others.... In some of those houses a man could be hitting his wife, a woman could be tormenting her child. Betrayal, death, violence—it happens everywhere." Doyle climbed off the bike and walked away, towards the fence that marked the edge of the bluff they were on.
Bodie followed him, and leaned on the fence next to Doyle. He didn't say anything, just stood close beside him.
"What turns a Judy Wynans into Ulrike Herzl? She was a child once, like the ones she might have killed with her bombs."
"You know there's no answer to that. It just is. She made a choice somewhere along the line."
"Somewhere along the line. Or choices were made that affected her—all leading to this moment, and this outcome." Bodie heard Doyle breathe in. "And what choices led us to stand against her? Although the things we do hardly put us on the side of the angels."
Bodie turned his head towards him. "Ray—"
"You said it before—about that thin line and choices. All those years ago, that kid I knifed—I could have killed him."
"You didn't."
Doyle glanced at him. "I told you I wanted into CI5 because the line was clearer. But it wasn't just for that." He paused. "Do you know how satisfying it was to hit Paul Coogan?"
Bodie closed his eyes for a moment. "You didn't kill him."
"I've killed others."
"in the line of duty."
"I've got off on it."
"A fact for which I've been grateful."
"Bodie—" Doyle's tone was sharp, unamused.
"What do you want me to say Ray, eh? Are you trying to draw a parallel between Ulrike and us? Because you know that won't fly. We kill, but we don't blow up innocents."
"June called us cowboys."
"Yeah, well, June was wrong." Bodie sighed. "Christ, you wouldn't be opening old wounds if June was right, and you know it. Okay, we like the excitement, the adrenaline high. And sometimes we feel more alive when we kill. Does it matter? We've channelled that into something good. We're needed. Maybe our reasons for joining were better than Cook's."
"He wasn't a killer."
"No." And he hadn't lasted long.
Doyle stared out towards the village, or maybe towards the darkness surrounding it. "How close are we to being Tommy, then?" The bleakness in Doyle's tone cut right through Bodie.
"We're not. Maybe I could have become like him once, but I've changed." He touched Doyle's face for a moment. "You never were."
Doyle's voice was low. "There are times when I—" He cut off his words. "When I was in hospital, after I was shot. I remember thinking I hadn't cared enough—about those boys, about anything. If I don't care, what's to stop me from...?"
"I will."
Doyle looked at him.
"Just like you stopped me. The time I came closest to it was when I had King Billy in a headlock. I nearly lost you because of that. We're a balance for each other, Ray."
Doyle was quiet for a long time. "What would you do without me?"
Bodie swallowed. "Survive. Or not. I don't know."
Doyle looked out again towards the valley. "I never thought you'd stay, you know. In CI5. I always thought you'd leave one day. Resign."
"So did I, when I joined."
"And that night—after Preston. I knew you'd never stay with me."
Bodie looked up into the sky. There was a faint trace of light to the east. "I've changed." He could remember the man he'd been when he joined CI5; he never wanted to be him again.
"I tried to push you away."
Bodie brought his gaze back to Doyle. "I told you I've learned to be stubborn."
"Thank God." Doyle turned so he was facing Bodie. "We made choices—right and wrong—and here we are. What's our next choice, Bodie?"
He was still for a moment, and then he gave in to temptation: "Well, I'm not making love to you in a layby, so put that out of your head."
He caught a glimpse of teeth as Doyle grinned. "Coward."
"I've got very sensitive skin." He moved in close to Doyle, and took his face in his hands. "We're staying in CI5, Ray." He felt the sudden resistance as Doyle pulled back. Bodie held him a moment longer, then let him go.
Doyle took a step away from him. "You wanted out not that long ago."
"I was wrong."
Doyle was silent.
"We're the best—and it's not just at the killing. You came up with the idea to trick Ulrike. I saw the weakness in Lawson's plan. It's the whole package with us." He gestured towards the village. "We're needed."
"You said the cost was too high."
"Cook paid the highest cost, didn't he? Along with June and Danny. Reynolds and Harrison. Matheson and King. Williams."
"Lake." Doyle moved back close to Bodie.
Bodie nodded. "That receptionist at the hotel. We couldn't save her, but we can save others."
"If we can stay on that bloody thin line."
Bodie stroked Doyle's cheekbone, drawn as ever to the imperfect beauty of him. "And that's what I left out in my reckoning."
"What?"
"You and me."
One wrong choice.
No. I won't let it happen.
What's to stop me?
I will.
Doyle turned his head, and kissed the palm of Bodie's hand. "You watch my back, and I watch yours." His voice sounded rough.
"We've been doing it from that first day. You called me a mercenary; I called you a copper. We'll never be like Tommy, nor Cowley."
"Just us."
Bodie nodded, and let his hand fall. "Do you know, I never thought you'd want...who I was. Even if I'd changed." The man he still could be, in a bleak future.
"The man who would kill for revenge?"
"And take joy in it." And then, to save you the pleasure of spending the rest of your miserable life in gaol, I'm going to do the same for you, with great joy. "Without you." Bodie whispered the words.
Doyle cupped Bodie's face with his hand. Bodie could feel the calluses from Doyle's gun, but his touch was gentle. "Our balance. I'll always come after you."
You come after me. I stay for you.
After a moment, when Bodie was certain his voice could be trusted, he grinned. "Are you promising to haunt me, Doyle?"
"Every step of the way." Doyle leaned in and kissed him, a thorough and lingering kiss. It wasn't a prelude to passion, but it pierced Bodie's heart with the sweetest mix of pleasure and pain. To have this, he'd sacrifice everything; to hold it, he'd have to risk everything. Doyle pulled back. "Come on, let's find some breakfast." Doyle turned and headed for the bike.
Bodie followed. "We've only got a few years left on the A Squad."
Doyle nodded, and handed Bodie his helmet. "And then we'll see what Cowley's plan is." He looked Bodie in the eye. "That future you were talking about the other day might not happen."
"Then we'll find another way to help." Bodie took the helmet. "It's who we are, sunshine."
"Fools?" Doyle picked up his own helmet.
"In love. Yeah." Bodie strapped on his helmet, and saw Doyle doing the same. But Doyle didn't climb onto the bike. Bodie tilted his head and reached for the strap of the helmet, wondering if there was more Doyle needed to say. But then he saw that Doyle was gesturing for him to get on first—for him to take the driver's position.
He felt a jolt of pleasure, almost as if Doyle had touched him. Bloody hell. He grinned, and swung onto the bike before Doyle changed his mind. A few moments later, he felt Doyle climb on behind him, and Doyle's arms around him, holding him tightly. Bodie started the engine, moved the bike off its stand and onto the road. He leaned forward as he accelerated, and Doyle went with him. Every shift in position was followed by Doyle, as if they were working in tandem; as if they were sweeping a room. He relaxed into the familiar teamwork that was his world. He drove east along the A road, heading back to London. The road took them higher, winding to the crest of the hill, and finally they came out onto a plain, and found dawn before them. The sun's rays spread across the land, turning grass and leaf to a brilliant hue of green. There was moisture in the air and on the ground, and the wind was cold, despite the strength of the sun. But he had Doyle's warmth against his back. He took one hand off the bike handle, and placed it briefly on top of Doyle's—just a touch; a promise. Doyle's arms gave him a reply: promise for promise.
Bodie smiled, and the night's shadow fled before him. He drove straight into morning, into spring, with Doyle.